


stray away

by mydickisthealpha



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Introspection, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 10:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4663098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydickisthealpha/pseuds/mydickisthealpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not like Peter doesn't understand how royally fucked up this is. He does. He really, really does. He can't even look Aunt May in the eyes anymore, that's how fucked up this is. But like (almost) everything in his life, this one kinda just came up and bit him without warning. This particular bite doesn't come with brand spanking new powers and better eyesight. It does, however, come with a mercenary... with a mouth. More specifically, he'd like to come with a mercenary, maybe in his mouth?</p>
            </blockquote>





	stray away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ameliathermopolis](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ameliathermopolis), [aka rachel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=aka+rachel).



> Basically, this was written using a mixture of various knowledge I know of these two, so there's no specific canon compliance here. I guess. I don't think I have Wade's voice quite right yet, but I'll get there. This was supposed to be like hella short and somehow it became a little bit more. My love for Spideypool literally came out of nowhere a few weeks ago. Kinda mad about it. Also, my brain's been doing weird things lately, probably from anemia lol, so if you see any mistakes, you can definitely let me know. Please be gentle, I am a smol fragile erotic bird.
> 
> come chill with me @godsensei over on tumblr.

It's not like Peter doesn't understand how _royally_ fucked up this is. He does. He really, really does. He can't even look Aunt May in the eyes anymore, that's how fucked up this is.

But like (almost) everything in his life, this one kinda just came up and bit him without warning.

This particular bite doesn't come with brand spanking new powers and better eyesight. It does, however, come with a mercenary... with a mouth.

More specifically, he'd like to come with a mercenary, maybe in his mouth?

God, fuck, he's so fucked.

Wade is literally the antithesis of everything Peter is used to. His aunt, though surprisingly with the times, would probably look at him with her Disappointed Eyes if she knew. (She's a bit too good of a person, so she _most likely_ wouldn't disown him.) If his uncle were alive, he'd probably say, "With great power comes great responsbility to not date people who murder people for money."

Oh, sweet Jesus, Wade _murders_ people. Murdered people? That he has to question it is proof enough of all of his bad decisions.

But the thing is... _the thing is_... Wade's actually really-- he's a lot more than Peter bargained for. Because underneath his smart mouth and his (admittedly funny) jokes, he's trying so hard to get back to... _whoever_ he was before he became Deadpool. There's glimpses of someone under there that's just looking for companionship, that could be so good, that is so good, it's just-- God, he's been through a lot. Peter's seen the ever-fluctuating lesions and scars on his face when he lifts his mask to eat. It looks _painful_ (not that they ever talk about it-- in fact, Peter avoids bringing up the subject because Wade's _really_ self-conscious about it), but the man can't die to end it all, despite _trying_ (which makes Peter's heart seize up in a way he definitely does not even want to think about).

He shouldn't like him, but _shit_ , he does. _And_ he's attracted to him. He's attracted to someone who sings 90s sex songs unironically. As a romantic gesture. He's _into_ that.

No wonder he got bullied in school.

Still, Wade is trying. He's trying to turn it around, and yes, he fails sometimes and that's a huge problem, but isn't recovery a series of ups and downs? He helps out a lot, actually, and the people that he kills are always bad people (not that that really makes it okay), but more and more often he doesn't do that anymore.

So, yes, the attraction and even the _liking as a person_ part has been very abrupt and scary as fuck, Peter's not gonna lie. When Peter likes someone, something always goes wrong. It's kind of soothing that Wade can't die. It's less soothing because he's Deadpool.

If scrawny little fifteen-year-old Peter Parker had ever been clued into the fact that this would be his life? He probably would've begged his aunt and uncle to leave NY. Maybe he should. He wonders, idly, if Thor offers transport to Asgard.

All this, Peter thinks, as he's swinging his injured ass from rooftop to rooftop, running more ragged the closer he gets to his own apartment. He's surprised he hasn't seen Wade, the way he's been showing up lately like, 'Hey sweetcheeks, I was just in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd proposition you for sex!'

Peter cringes both at the thought of him almost accepting and the fact that his injured ribs pull harshly as he makes the jump onto his fire escape, steel clanging and reverberating it's noise down into the alley below as his legs give out and he falls to one knee.

"Fuck me," Peter groans, biting his lip underneath his mask to fend off the stabbing pain through his legs at the off landing.

"Well, if you insist!" A voice says from above him and Peter spins up, backing against his window at the sudden intrusion. His spidey-sense didn't warn him, the pain distracting him just enough to keep him unaware.

When he realizes it's Wade, he huffs raggedly, letting go of the rough bricks behind him. He had to speak of the Devil, for the Devil is appearing to him now. All he wants to do is collapse on his couch and never get back up again.

Wait... on his couch. Which is... five steps away from him. At his apartment. At the place where he lives.

His eyes widen, and he wonders if it's too late to just pretend he landed here because he's injured, but then what?

"You're looking a little worse for the wear there, Spidey, but I gotta say, I love all the skin you're showing with this outfit choice," Wade says happily, and Peter can just _see_ the shit-eating grin behind the fabric of his mask.

Putting a hand on his hip, he decides to fuck it. The situation, not Wade, his brain supplies helpfully.

He turns, shoves the window open, and climbs in, leaving it for Wade to follow. If Wade has anything to say about it, he's suspiciously silent.

Peter drags himself into the kitchen, listening to Wade's almost silent footsteps circling the living room. His apartment isn't that shabby, but it isn't that nice, either. He's tried to spice it up a little with hand-me-downs from Aunt May, things she doesn't have any use for now that it's just her in the house (and all of Peter's friends keep buying her shit for Christmas, her birthday, and Mother's Day, which is awfully nice of them-- but, hello, starving college kid here trying to save the world).

Still, he's a bit self-conscious of his run-down furniture (suspect stains and all), raggedy carpet (also heavily stained, but he bleeds a lot), and the general mess of lab work and newspaper photos everywhere.

"Didn't peg you for the burglering type, but I like the way you're thinking," Wade says and Peter looks up from his fridge long enough to see him saunter into the small space with a photo of Aunt May in his hands. He took that picture himself, and she looks bashful, but beautiful, with her lashes brushing her high cheekbones and whisps of silver hair trying to escape from under her fingers so it can dance in the wind.

"That's my aunt," Peter says, simply, and bends slowly to grab the water bottle on the top shelf. He lifts it up to his bruised face, the cool feeling good through the cloth, as he closes the fridge door, watching as Wade seems to still almost completely.

"Is this your aparment?" He sounds a shade different, like that confident front is gone, replaced with a softer, pensive voice.

Peter pops the cap off the water, and removes his mask completely.

Wade sucks in a breath, one foot taking a step back. He clutches the picture to his chest.

Peter takes a few gulps of the water, wiping his mouth as he caps it and puts it on the counter. He knows Wade is studying his face, because this is the first time he's ever seen it, and it's a little nerve inducing. He's not the best looking person in town, and so he keeps his eyes down.

"Now that's all sorts of unfair," Wade finally drawls, voice low. "Yeah, I know he's fucking gorgeous, he's right in front of me, stupid."

Peter swallows, (firstly, wondering who the hell Wade's talking to) fighting the blush threatening to rise to his face. He's not a high school adolescent anymore and he can't keep acting like a kid with a crush.

"Nice place," Wade says, maybe a bit too casually, turning back around to place the picture of Aunt May on the coffee table beside the couch, fingers lingering on the frame before moving, "Your grandma's a fox."

"Aunt. Thanks?"

"I'm sorry, but are you insane?" Wade asks suddenly, open palm slicing through the air to accentuate his question.

"That really tells me about the state of my life if you're asking me that question. No. We're friends, right? We hang out."

Deadpool brings his closed fist to his mouth, voice pitching high with his lungs full of air as he says, "Bruh, I wanna hug you so hard."

"I'm a little banged up right now," Peter curses himself silently for his word choice in the company he's in, "how about a raincheck?"

"I'll take anything I can get, snookums," Wade says, dropping onto his couch like it's his. His arms are resting on the top, and his legs are spread wide and for a moment, Peter pictures himself sliding in-between them and has to backtrack. God, he needs to get laid.

"I'm gonna go wash up. I think I've got... whatever in my kitchen. Help yourself. Don't break anything, please?" He walks down the hall into his bedroom, shutting the door (and locking it for good measure, although it's probably pointless, knowing Wade).

He leans against the door, wondering if he really is crazy. But his head is throbbing, his legs hurt, his ribs are probably bruised to hell and back and he can taste blood on his lips. (He'll need to pick up new heavy-duty concealer soon, because he's almost out.) If he likes Wade this much already, what does it matter if he knows who he is? Peter's not really an impulse kinda guy--well, okay, maybe sometimes he is, but at least he's logical about most things.

Logically, Peter is screwed.

Gingerly peeling off his grimy suit, he shucks it into his ever-growing pile of recyclable attire in the corner of his room. It smells really bad over there, but cleaning comes second to saving lives (Gwen used to say that wasn't a good reason at all, but it totally is). He pushes open the door to the bathroom (which is blessedly connected to the room) and passes the mirror without looking into it, turning on his shower and stepping in.

He arches away from the stream of too hot water until the temperature evens out (his apartment is a piece of shit, in general) and lets it fall down his body to wash away the aches of fighting, and blood and dirt. Standing sucks, so it doesn't take long for him to clean everything, and before he knows it, he's wiping steam off the mirror to look at his face.

His lip is split, but it's not bleeding anymore, and his right eye is purpling pretty nicely. His hair is getting really long, and he'll have to ask his aunt to cut it for him, but for now, he runs a hand through the damp strands, pushing it out of his face. Sighing, he steps into his room, pressing his toes into the carpet because it feels nice. Finding clothes isn't too hard, a pair of pajama shorts and a simple t-shirt that's too big, but putting them on makes him groan like a geriatric straightening up after a long sit.

When he makes his way back into the living room, Wade has his legs crossed, mask bunched up just above his nose, chomping on... well, those tortilla chips are probably stale. Glancing at the television, he's not surprised to see The Golden Girls on, what with how late it is and Wade's weird preferences (the show is on mute, for... Pete's sake).

Still, he passes in front of the tv and sits next to Wade, pulling a bare knee up to his chin and crossing the other leg under him. He tilts his head until his cheek is pressed against his bony kneecap, face neutral as he watches the shifting light of the tv on Wade's laughing face.

It takes a few minutes until Wade finally looks at him.

"My name is Peter," he announces, and Wade frowns.

"An awfully generic name for super hero. Bruce is pretty sturdy. Steve, even. Not Tony, though, sounds too Mama Luigi if you ask me. Stella sounds like a good super hero name. Her skill set would be stealing people's grooves."

Peter hums, eyes closing as he listens to them breathe.

"You okay, Petey? You're being weird tonight."

Peter opens his eyes again, honey brown illuminated in the glow of the television.

"Just tired," he answers.

He can see Wade narrowing his eyes even without his mask off.

"You're young," he says, and Peter shrugs. He doesn't feel very young.

"I'm 23," he sighs, drawing his other knee up and presses his forehead against his cool skin. He sits there for a moment before he feels a gloved hand on his thigh.

"Spidey, babe, you don't have to save the entire world." The hand squeezes gently, and Peter doesn't understand the urge to cry, so he swallows it back down. "Yeah, I know he doesn't have to save the world at all, but it's _Spiderman_. Duh."

"Yeah, I do," he says, thinking of his uncle bleeding out in front of him. He drops his legs and Wade's hand follows, so he presses his own hand on top of it, and feels Wade tense up. It's a little sad that any sort of contact makes him do that--any sort of warmth makes him feel like he needs to defend himself or go on alert.

They stare at each other for some odd minutes, before Peter scoots back towards the arm rest, stretching his legs until his feet are in Wade's lap. He tucks his hands under his face for comfort and settles into the back of the couch, letting the flickering shadows on the floor lull him to sleep, the cool of Wade's leather glove around his ankle.

 

 

When he wakes up on the couch, blearily, he registers a few things; one, Wade is gone, two, a cover has been tucked over him and he's slobbering on the arm rest, and three, Wade wrote on his arm.

_'Pancakes in your microwave. Blasphemous, but you looked so cute sleeping I just couldn't bring myself to wake you.'_

He also drew a penis.

Peter throws a hand over his eyes and laughs, ignoring the ache in his ribs.

The pancakes are fantastic, which sucks a lot, because of course they're delicious. Even after he's microwaved them back to life!

 

 

The next time he sees Wade, it's as Peter Parker. In the grocery store. Getting pancake mix. It's really embarrassing. (So, he's been craving pancakes, sue him.) (But also don't sue him because he doesn't have any money.) Wade's wearing a black and red hoodie (go figure), a mouth mask, like the NY smog is really getting to him, and sunglasses, despite it being night time.

"Ohoho, did someone enjoy my pancakes?" He asks gleefully, and Peter shoots him the bird, stuffing the pancake mix into his basket and turning on his heel.

"Don't be like that, Peter, honey," he says, a bit too loudly, and a few customers look their way. Peter turns again, pushing him back into the sinful carb aisle with a little more force than necessary.

"Ooh, you look pissed. A little beat up, but pissed. You gonna punish me? Who clocked you one?" Wade switches topics so quickly, Peter barely registers him when he reaches out to brush against the scratched and bruised spot on his face.

"Doesn't matter; he's in jail," Peter says, trying not to turn his face into Wade's hand. God, how pathetic.

"This debauched look makes you seem like a tiny rebel-- kinda hot, can't lie. I'd let you handle my lightsaber."

"You would," Peter rolls his eyes, but starts moving again, Wade falling into step beside him. They inadvertently match pace.

"You know, if you wanted my sexy body splayed all over your apartment, you could just ask," Wade comments, and Peter scoffs.

"Oh, yes, PETEY, rub the chimichangas on my nipples, ahn~!" Wade continues, actually rubbing his nipples through his hoodie, and Peter begins to walk faster to separate them.  
  
"Baby come back! You can blame it all on me!" He sings, using a mop as a makeshift guitar.

Peter does not laugh. He doesn't. It would be morally wrong to laugh, because there are children here and they shouldn't be exposed to any of this.

"You're smiling~! So you do want my pancakes?" Wade asks hopefully, dropping the mop where he stands. A grocery store employee scowls at them from the cash register.

"Fine, yeah. Yes. Come over and cook me pancakes."

"Ahn, oh yessss," Wade moans again and Peter tries to block him out until they leave the store.

Their trek on the way back is familiar. Peter doesn't really use original modes of transportation, opting to web-sling because it's faster and he can do a quick patrol of the city from way up high. Sundays are decidedly dead for criminal activity, which is a blessing. Deadpool is piggy-backing again, chattering excitedly about something or another, maybe to Peter, maybe to himself, it doesn't really matter. Peter's focused more on the strength of his thighs on either side of Peter's waist.

It _does_ things to him.

They reach his apartment quickly, and they stumble into his dark living room.

"My pancakes rock your world, baby boy. Don't deny it," Wade laughs as he makes his way to the kitchen. He pushes his sleeves back, removing ingredients from plastic bags.

Peter sits on the other side of the counter, chin in hand. It's ridiculous how easy it is to have Wade in his kitchen-- like they're two regular people who do regular things like make pancakes for dinner. But there it is, and it feels awfully comfortable. Wade's sleeve falls again, and he pushes it back up, exposing marred flesh.

"You know you don't have to keep that stuff on," Peter comments, and watches Wade go stark still. Peter keeps himself from gasping.

"I mean, if you want to take it off, you can. I don't mind," he tries to backtrack, but Wade doesn't move.

"Wade," he says, tentatively.

A gun appears in front of his face before he can even register it, and Peter jumps up. It's not like he forgot how impulsive Wade is, how he reacts to things even unprovoked, it's just... he forgot that Wade might be that way to him.

"What is your fucking game?" Wade growls between clenched teeth. There's a muscle ticking in his exposed arm.

Shit.

"I don't have a game. I'm not playing a game--"

Wade jumps over the counter, tackling Peter and pinning him underneath his (admittedly) larger frame, the gun tucked under his chin and his other hand encasing almost the entirety of Peter's throat.

" _Fuck_ you, Wade," Peter hisses from underneath him, suddenly angry, pushing at his shoulders, "this is my _home_. I trusted you enough to let you in. I showed you my face. Why would I risk that much just to hurt you? You _know_ me."

He could easily shove Wade off, wrap his legs around his head and flip him backwards so that he's not a threat-- but that would hurt him and Peter's trying to get him to _trust_ him, however convoluted all of this is. Wade's chest is heaving, the surgical mask he's wearing puffing in and out with the count. He swallows audibly.

"Talk to me, asshole," Peter says, gripping the skin of his wrist, which moves and reforms under his palm.

Wade pulls back just as quickly as he pulled out the gun, tucking it back from where he got it. Peter rubs his hands over his face, before placing them on Wade's thighs, which are on either side of him.

"Sorry, I-- Usually people only do this stuff to--"

"Take them off," Peter insists, hands squeezing Wade's muscles.

Wade just stares down at him, silently. Then he pushes the hoodie down, removes the glasses and yanks off the mask covering his mouth.

This isn't the first time Peter's seen his skin, but it's the first time he's seen his face. The scars extend all the way up his face, the top of his head, his ears, his neck, everything is scarred, some reforming as he looks at him. His eyes are a very captivating shade of blue.

"See?" Wade asks, barely a whisper, dropping his chin to his chest, but Peter pushes up onto his elbows, extending one hand out to touch the reddened skin healing in the spot beside his nose. Wade jerks a little, but doesn't move away. Peter lets his fingers drag softly here or there, and it's not so bad, really, because Wade's eyes are the most expressive, beautiful thing on him, revealing so much more of his nature.

"You have special eyes," Peter says, and Wade snorts.

"My BRAND!" He cries dramatically, and Peter leans back again.

"God, you're strange, kid," Wade laughs and it's amazing to see his lips stretch into a wide grin, his eyes crinkling at the sides, and everything in him seems to relax minutely as he jumps up. He extends a hand to Peter, who accepts it.

"I think you need to re-examine the word strange," Peter grumbles good-naturedly, sitting back at the counter to watch Deadpool work. It's surreal to watch his expression as he moves, singing whatever songs pop into his head, dancing as he mixes batter. Without the mask, without a covering, he seems... well, somewhat normal? Not that there's really a 'normal' for any of them, but this is the most sane that Peter's ever seen Wade.

"The secret to any good pancake is a good flip. Wanna try?" Wade wiggles the area where eyebrows should be, lifting the pan from the heat.

"Maybe I should just stick to crime fighting?"

"Aw, come on! It's easy! Kinda like masturbating, you know, gotta flick the wrist just so," Wade demonstrates lewdly and the pancake flips perfectly, landing smack dab in the middle of the pan.

Peter tries not to think about it too much. Well, he tries, but ultimately fails.

"Okay, but if you laugh, I will web your mouth shut," Peter announces, coming around the counter to grab the pan. Wade's hand covers the bottom of his wrist. He moves their hands.

"Yeah, just jerk it a little," Wade jokes, or maybe he's being serious, Peter can't tell, "and then--"

They move their hands at the same time and the pancake flips, landing close to the edge of the pan.

"Not bad, Spidey. Maybe there's hope for you yet," Wade says, way too close. Peter turns his head to look up at him, smiling. They linger a bit too long, before Wade makes to grab a spatula to remove the pancake.

The pancakes, once again, are way too good and he eats a bit more than he planned-- which is still nothing in comparison to how many Wade shovels into his mouth. Peter tries not to make him uncomfortable by watching him, but it's kind of hard. He likes Wade's jaw structure, how his cheekbones cut right through into high arches, and how his face can contort into various expressions in mere seconds.

He must be desperate, he thinks, he must be the same as Wade. He knows Wade doesn't want to be alone, that he keeps being rejected by everyone and in some ways he can relate. He's hated by the very city he saves, other heroes barely acknowledging his presence. He's always been a social outcast, for the very things that makes him who he is as a person. He's always coming into an empty apartment, patrolling the city from high places where nothing but birds share his view.

Wade makes it easier. When he shows up, there's someone to rely on, someone to laugh with. Wade wants to be around him, which is more than he can say for most people. Wade is resilient, too, not someone that he has to think about protecting (though he does struggle with this, it's just in his nature to want to protect people).

Plus, he's got a banging body, all hard build and rippling muscles. Peter didn't know that was his type until it was.

His police scanner goes off in the corner, and he frowns, listening intently.

"Looks like we got some ass to save. People to not-murder," Wade grins, standing and stretching. He pulls his trademark mask from his hoodie pocket, slipping it on. Peter digs into his jean pockets, doing the same. "Then we can go to my place to play video games!"

 

 

 

"You're looking too skinny these days," Aunt May says as she slaps food on his plate a bit angrily, like it's _his_ fault this entire city is full of criminals. "You need to eat more."

"I'm eating just fine, Aunt May," Peter says in exasperation, his pile of mashed potatoes looking more like a mountain with every scoop.

"I'll believe that when I see it," she announces, putting her porcelain bowl back on the table and moving to her own seat. "So, how's school?"

"It's fine. Exhausting? There's too much math. I don't know how they can live with themselves giving us that much math."

"Hmm, your uncle was always good at math," Aunt May says fondly, a far off look in her eyes. Peter smiles at her, grasping her frail hand, remembering the times his uncle had helped him with homework throughout the years.

She pats his hand, moving her own back to adjust the napkin in her lap. When she bows her head, Peter does to, out of respect.

"Lord, bless this food we are about to receive-- we give thanks for all that you've given us," Aunt May prays.

"Amen."

Despite his previous statement, Peter doesn't spare his food a second glance before putting it in his mouth. Takeout isn't as good as a home-cooked meal, especially when he's burning so many calories he's in a deficit. At least his ass looks amazing lately.

"Have you seen any of your friends lately?" Aunt May looks at him expectantly and Peter swallows, thinking about Wade.

"Sure," he answers slowly. Aunt May looks at him dubiously. "Uh, my friend has come over a few times."

He also pulled a gun on him, but Peter didn't really think he'd do anything to him. Also he kinda wants to bone said friend.  
  
"Well, that's very nice, Peter," she says, looking relieved. That makes him feel a little guilty, but only a little.

"Aunt May, did you ever--" Peter cuts himself off, but his aunt puts her cutlery down, looking at him in concern.

"Did I ever...?"

"Did you ever...," he shrugs, "do anything that wasn't exactly... the best choice?"

Aunt May smiles slyly.

"Well, I married your uncle Ben." Peter looks up quickly from where he's playing with a pea.

"What?"

"Oh, yes. No one thought Ben was any good for me. He was a spitfire in his younger days, always getting into trouble," she says, looking over at his picture on the wall. "Quite the opposite of what my mother was expecting of me. But I knew it was right, and I still believe we would've been together now, ever in love."

"I'm trying to make up for that one," Peter says, and May frowns.

"Your uncle wouldn't have blamed you," she says, "I certainly don't."

Peter swallows, eyes falling away from her to look at his plate.

Aunt May grabs his hand, forcing him to glance back up.

"You don't have the save the entire world, Peter. Just doing what you can is enough," she says, and Peter thinks about the same words being said to him just weeks ago. "You do what you think is right, dash all the rest."

Peter's grin is watery.

"Thanks, Aunt May."

"You're welcome, now you finish that plate, young man."

 

 

 

It's weird being the one to seek out Wade this time, a bag of taco bell in his backpack. He doesn't even know if Wade is out tonight, but that's okay. If he runs into him, it's cool, if he doesn't, that's alright, too.

He just figures it'd be nice if they could eat together.

"Petey!"

He does not scream, but he _does_ miss his intended web target, and his stomach flips as he looks for another good surface to try. He doesn't have to, because Wade grabs him from the air, landing on the nearest roof carrying him bridal style.

"I like pancakes, just not spider-shaped ones," Deadpool says, and Peter curses his spider-sense for keeping Wade off his radar.

"Thanks," he says, pushing himself down and out of Wade's arms. "I've got food."

"You were looking for moi?" Wade asks, drawing his knees together and sticking a foot up.

Peter draws the Taco Bell bag out of his pack.

"It's like that one dream we had," he hears Wade whisper to himself, but he ignores that in lieu of pulling his mask off and sitting on the edge of the building. Wade joins him, hesitating for a moment before pulling his own mask off.

He hands Wade a bag of tacos, and settles down with his own, glancing out onto the city below. He's been Spiderman for a while, but he doesn't think he'll ever get used to being so high up or such a view. The lights below twinkle like stars, oranges and reds and greens shifting as cars drive around. The people look like specks, and the buildings get progressively smaller the farther out he looks. Sometimes it feels lonely up here, but he glances over at Wade, who seems to be looking at the same thing.

"How do you even get up this high?" he asks, and Wade stops mid-chew.

"Hmm, couldn't say," he answers, continuing to eat. "Thanks for the tacos, pumpkin."

Peter takes a bite of his own taco.

"Does it hurt when you die?" Peter asks around a mouth full of taco stuffing, suddenly too morbidly curious for his own good.

Wade chews slowly, furrowing his forehead.

When he swallows, he answers, "At first, it hurts like a bitch. The after is kinda nice, though. When my body is regenerating, I don't feel like anything or anyone. No voices, no Deadpool."

"Do... do the scars hurt?"

Wade looks over at him.

"Well, they don't feel like spider smooches."

"Sorry. Stupid question," Peter says.

"Hey, nobody really asks that question," he shrugs, "s'kinda nice that you did."

Peter keeps eating, feeling ridiculously like himself and less like Spiderman. He can relate to Wade's ridiculous over confidence when he's behind the mask. It's like being a completely different person, where he can say whatever he wants, because people are always thinking badly of him anyway. When he's just Peter Parker, he feels like he did in high school, inexperienced and trying too hard.

They eat in relative silence, except for when Wade points something out and starts chattering incessantly. It doesn't bother Peter, not like it used to. Wade doesn't really talk about anything relevant, though he does know a ridiculous amount of pop culture-- which he sometimes comments on himself. They can argue good-naturedly about things. Mostly.

"The point is, you would be Scorpion and I would be Sub-Zero, if we're being accurate here."

"Bullshit, you're not as cool as Sub-Zero. You're a nerd. A hot nerd, but definitely not a cool one."

"You have, uh, there," Peter says, distracted. Wade's got taco sauce on the corner of his mouth.

"Hmm?"

"Here," he says, and he's moving before he even realizes what he's doing-- reaching over to swipe his thumb at the corner of Wade's mouth, before licking the sauce off of his own finger.

Wade blinks at him. He blinks back, thumb still in his mouth, before he drops his hand, clearing his throat.

"Are you sure you're not fucking with me?" Wade asks.

Peter raises his eyebrows, frowning.

"I'm pretty sure that's something that's not happening. Why?"

"Huh," Wade says as he pulls his mask back on, "No, White's right. Totally romcom."

"What?"

"I've got a job to do for Fury, baby boy. We should do a movie night soon. Do you wanna do that? Let's watch something with Ryan Reynolds. You should go first though."

"Why?"

"So I can unashamedly stare at your ass while you leave?"

"Unbelievable," Peter scoffs, shoving the trash from their dinner in his bag. He does leave first, though (and they watch The Proposal later that week.)

 

 

 

"Is it worth it, let me work it, I put my thang down, flip it and reverse it," are the first words Peter hears when he surfaces after being temporarily downed by a flash bang from Green Goblin and his hired lackeys.

Surprisingly, some of the Avengers are here helping out, so it's hilariously inappropriate when he feels 70% safer now that Wade is here.

"I don't wanna beat around the bush, Spidey," he starts, "so if you're into the whole getting your ass kicked thing, I could rearrange a few dates to open up my schedule."

"Stick it up your ass," Peter coughs, blood driplets hitting his open palm as he tries to push himself up.

"Well, if that's what you're into, alright-- HEY GOBLIN. Ti esrever dna ti pilf, nwod gnaht ym tup I!!" He throws himself into the fray, narrowly missing Captain America's shield as it slices through the air.

"You okay, kid?" Black Widow asks him, kneeling close.

"Peachy," he says, finally making it to his knees.

"Come on," she orders, helping him up, throwing his arm over her shoulder until they can move to the sidelines. "You should sit this one out. We can handle it."

He simply nods, too injured to argue about responsibility and territory. He rests his head against the brick wall, eyes spotting the red and black of Wade's outfit and following his form as he rides Goblin's glider and crashes into a building. Shaking his head, he shuts his eyes, gritting his teeth. That last bomb was too close, and his skin is singed on his side. He's pretty sure there's internal damage in some capacity. Probably not too bad, because he's not dead yet, but certainly not good. Plus, it _really_ fucking hurts.

He feels a slap on his face, and jerks upright.

"Hey, babe, the fight's over, and you really need medical attention," Wade's voice says, and Peter tries to blink everything into focus. Didn't he just close his eyes? He feels like he just closed his eyes.

"I know that you heal pretty quickly, but you do not have regenerative abilities. I'm gonna pick you up, alright?"

"Wade?" God, that sounds like Wade, but he just can't focus.

"Yeah, it's me, baby boy, don't talk, okay? We're gonna go to Stark's big old fancy tower and you don't wanna miss that, right?"

"Did... Goblin?"

"He's gone for now, don't worry your pretty little head about it."

"...hurts."

"Fuck-- I know, it's okay."

Peter doesn't know how long he's out for, because he wakes up, disoriented, in a ridiculously clean looking room. There's a pulling at his side, and when he touches it, he feels bandages. What had Wade said? Something about a tower?

Tower... Stark Tower?

He lurches upwards, which is a pretty bad move, because he sucks in a breath and freezes when the pain hits him.

He lets out a ragged breath, one that he can't keep the noise out of. But his mask is still in place, and he lets his hand drop to his side.

Trying to catch his breath, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and stumbles off. He's been ridiculously careful about his identity (up until about a month ago), and so if one little fight with Goblin fucked everything up, he's gonna be pissed.

He doesn't even know where he's going.

"Sir, it is inadvisable for you to be traveling in your condition." A crisp, accented voice alerts him and he doesn't jump only for the fact that he knows it would hurt.

"I don't particulary care right now," Peter says.

"I must insist you head back to your designated room or I'll have to alert Mr. Stark of your whereabouts."

"Listen, where's Deadpool?"

"Wade Wilson is currently off the premises. He was here to drop you off, but was kicked out immediately after for destroying Mr. Stark's property."

"Okay, well, I'm going to-- what's your name?"

"I am JARVIS."

"Cool, JARVIS, I'm gonna leave, because there's no reason I should be here and my identity is at stake and that fucks with all my plans for the future. No alerting anyone... it's a free country," he tacks on at the end, frowning exaggeratedly because it sounds dumb, but it's true. He's not going to stay here against his will.

"Woah, son, what are you doing?" Speaking of freedom, Peter turns to see Steve Rogers doing that weird half-jog down the hall, looking at him with concern. Weird day.

"Not that I don't want to see you, because I always want to see you," Peter starts, "I just have places to be."

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that. You're injured badly. There were internal--"

"Did you take off my mask?"

Steve seems put off by the interruption.

"Your identity is safe, Spiderman, but--"

"Okay, great, I'd like to keep it that way. I appreciate the Avengers' help, but I've got to catch up with Wade--"

"With Deadpool?"

"Yes--"

"He's a psychotic mercenary who destroyed property almost as soon as he got here. I'm not sure what you're doing hanging around him, but the people who read The Daily Bugle aren't going to believe you're there to help if you're spotted together."

"I appreciate your logic in this situation, and I know it seems weird, but Wade isn't--"

"He kills people, son, and the last time I checked, Spiderman wasn't that way."

"Spiderman isn't, but Wade's trying-- no one is giving him a chance--"

"I understand Mr. Wilson's predicament," Steve says, and Peter doesn't think that he does.

"Hasn't there ever been anyone you've known that's completely lost themselves and try as they might, they can't seem to find who they were?" Peter asks desperately, trying to make him understand, and Steve's face shutters. "I know it doesn't seem like he's a good person, but there were circumstances that made him the way that he is. I shouldn't have to explain it to you, because it's not your business, but I believe he can do it."

Steve looks at him seriously, pursing his lips.

"How do I leave?"

When he gets to Wade's apartment (by taxi, because he isn't about to try web-slinging while he's like this), he's lost all his steam. Still, he gets out and makes his way to the elevator. The music is some soft tune that he can picture Wade dancing to just for spite-- that is, if he ever uses the elevator.

When he knocks on the door, there's crashing sounds from inside, he thinks he hears a cat screeching, and Wade cussing.

The door lurches open, and Wade stares at him. He bursts into action like a chest alien.

"What the hell are you doing? You're-- you almost lost it. And I thought I was the one with no self-preservation," he says, pulling him into the apartment and onto his couch. "Shouldn't you be schmoozing with the Avengers? And by schmoozing I mean, in a hospital unit?"

Peter grins, holding onto his side, because it's aching.

"Aw, were you worried about me?" He teases, watching Wade take off his mask, which had probably been haphazardly shoved on before he opened the door. It makes his heart skip that Wade does it without hesitation.

"You always worry me, Spidey-kid," Wade says, sitting down next to him.

Peter blinks, and realizes-- it's here in these private moments that Peter began to see Wade differently. Sure, even when they're alone together Wade can be... obnoxious (Peter still likes being around him in these times, too), but sometimes... sometimes he's calm, especially when he's comfortable. These moments, which had been ridiculously few and far between when they first met, have become more and more frequent.

"I think you're a good guy," Peter proclaims, and Wade frowns. "I mean it-- I believe you can be a hero-- I believe you're already on your way."

"Pete, I trashed the Avenger's tower when I thought you--"

Wade stops talking, presses his hand against Peter's forehead, checking for a fever, twisting his mouth when it feels cool. Peter grabs that hand, and pulls it to his chest.

"I mean it," he says, sincerely, and tacks on, "I'm Spiderman, I should know."

Silence.

"Don't ruin this for me," Wade mutters to himself eventually, before sighing.

"Also, I'm probably going to pass out." Peter mentions, before he does just that.

 

 

 

"Well I thought about fasturbating (you know, masturbating-- but fast!!), but I ran out of time," Wade says in answer to Peter's attempt to distract him (a question about why it took so long for him to show up), and Peter laughs, thankful for the mask he's wearing, because he honestly feels more like crying. Even though Wade is often 'dying' or getting hurt, it doesn't make it any easier to witness. The shock still pierces through him, heart stopping as Wade's does. It's terrifying that he understands how far gone he is on Wade at this point.

"Aw, Petey, it's not so bad. I still have the one leg," he kicks it out a little, as if demonstrating. "If you hadn't gotten me out of the way, I wouldn't even have that one."

"You kinda suck at comforting people," Peter comments, unable to keep the emotion from his voice, sitting down beside him and crossing his legs.

"It won't take much longer," Wade says, like Peter is going to rush him to regenerate. Peter feels angry about that, wondering just who's done that to him before.

They sit in silence for a moment.

"Boy toy named Troy, used to live in Detroit...," Wade begins singing, head bobbing to the beat that's, no doubtedly, playing in his head. "Big dope deala money, he was gettin some coins."

"Was in shoot outs with the law, but he lived in a palace."

"Bought me Alexander McQueen, he was keepin' me stylish, aww yeah, Spidey."

They trade more verses, and Peter wonders if it's helpful at all. Wade certainly looks distracted and pretty pain-free, chest circling around in a sexy dance move Shakira might bust out, but that doesn't mean much. Wade's a good actor.

"Hey babe?"

"Hmm?"

"When I think about you I touch myself," he says, seriously, and Peter groans, punching Wade in the arm.

"Hey! I'm injured here! You don't hit injured people, Peter Benjamin Parker!"

"I don't remember telling you my full name," Peter remarks, but he's not surprised.

"Eh, I ransacked JJ's office after he suspended you from work that one time. Your full name was in the payroll system!" Wade says giddily. Peter blanches.

"Is that why I got a raise?"

"Uh... if I said, 'no', would you believe me?"

"No."

"... I probably didn't have anything to do with it."

"Probably?"

"It could've been the voices in my head."

"Yeah."

"Yea-puh."

"Hey Wade?" Peter asks as he stands. He needs to start cleanup, which usually takes a while. It'll give Wade enough time to heal, and then they can get going.

"Hmm?"

"I might like you better if we slept together," he says, and saunters away as Wade's jaw drops.

"Petey waiiiit my leg!!"

 

 

 

It's happenstance that Peter runs into Wade on the way to his aunt's. He tries to have dinner with her at _least_ once a week, if he can. She deserves more from him, he thinks, but it's just not possible-- not between his job, internship, and other activities.

He actually wonders how many times he's fallen asleep at her dinner table, only to wake up with one of her sweaters draped over his shoulders and dinner wrapped in seran next to him. He feels really guilty about that, but Aunt May's house is his childhood home and everything about it is so comfortable he can't help it. He never gets much sleep at his own apartment, especially when crime is a never-ending work-night.

He's behind Wade when he realizes who it is, can see the bright red of his outfit under a familiar hoodie, and before he knows what he's doing, he's calling out.

Wade turns, hand close to his gun holster, but breaks into a wide grin, clearly visible through his mask.

"Well if it isn't my precious darlin'," he says, "how'd you know it was me?"

"I'd recognize that ass anywhere," Peter jokes, taking one of Wade's lines right from his mouth. Wade laughs, his gravelly voice making Peter's stomach flip and he suddenly wishes he could hear that voice murmuring into his year, saying his name, telling him things that make him swallow nervously.

"Touche, sugar," Wade says, throwing an arm over Peter's shoulders. "So what are we up to tonight? I was thinking about jazzercise, but, I don't know, my hands haven't been cooperating with me."

"What?"

"You know, you gotta have jazz hands to do jazzercise, geez, Peter, everyone knows that."

"Sure."

"I could definitely put jazzercise off if you'd rather sex me up, though."

"I was actually going to my Aunt May's for a late dinner," Peter says, distinctly not thinking about sexing anyone up.

"Oh," Wade mutters, dropping his arm. He looks a bit dejected now, and Peter must be crazy.

"Do you want to...," Peter licks his lips, "do you want to come with me?"

"You really want me there?" Wade asks, skeptically, pointer fingers pressing together at the tips.

"Yeah, I mean, Aunt May doesn't have a whole lot of company. I think she'd like doting over someone else. Um, but you'd have to... take the mask off? You'd scare the shit out of her if you go as Deadpool-- she does watch the news."

Wade snorts.

"And she wouldn't be scared to see what's under the mask?"

"No," Peter says, without hesitation. His aunt is many things, but most of all, she's empathetic. She would never judge Wade because of his condition, would never think badly of him for his appearance.

"Is she gonna come on to me? I'm pretty hot," he says, seriously, and Peter splutters.

"What?! No! I mean, you are-- I, gosh no, she's... an older lady," Peter finishes lamely.

"Relax, Petey. Sure, I'll go with. But if she gets all in my business, we'll have to do that fake relationship trope and kiss to prove that we're together!"

Peter rolls his eyes heavenward for help, but the sky is silent. Serves him right.

When Aunt May opens the door, she blinks at the presence of another body, but immediately recovers and offers them both a warm smile.

"Please, come in from the chill-- it's getting so close to autumn," she says, ushering them in. Wade's been jittering with nerves with each step closer to Aunt May's, and he looks on guard now, waiting for what he thinks is an inevitability.

Peter kisses Aunt May's cheek, and turns to introduce them.

"Aunt May, this is my friend Wade, you know, the one I...? Wade, my Aunt May."

"It's just wonderful to meet a friend of Peter's, especially one he's talked so much about! He never brings anyone around anymore and it's so nice to know he has someone to look after him."

Wade looks a bit startled, both at the information of Peter talking about him and the fact that Aunt May goes in for a kiss on his cheek. She doesn't even pause afterwards, just keeps talking about how she hopes Wade will enjoy dinner and how Peter should've told her he was bringing him.

As they're making their way to the dining room, Peter mouths, 'Told you.'

Dinner is a nice enchilada casserole--which makes Wade's face light up-- that Aunt May fusses over as she brings it in.

She settles down at the end of the small table, Peter in the middle, Wade on the other end. They're relatively close together, and May reaches for Peter's hand and across the table to hold Wade's hand for her small prayer.

"And thank you for Peter's delectable ass," Wade whispers at the end of the prayer, and Peter tries not to choke on his own spit.

"Now," Aunt May says, as she tucks her napkin in her lap, "from what I understand, you work with Peter?"

"Oh yeah I work Peter prett--"

"Yes! He works with me. At the lab," Peter glares, and Wade shoves an enchilada in his mouth and avoids his eyes.

"That sounds wonderful. He says you're integral to his work, Wade, you must be very smart."

"Aw, nah, that's Petey. He's the one with the brains. I'm the one with the brawn." He flexes for May, who laughs in delight, and Peter takes a bite of his casserole as he watches them make conversation. They're surprisingly in tune with each other, which makes Peter nervous. Aunt May keeps laughing, which is nice, but what if they conspire against him?

He does have to interrupt Wade's innuendo quite a bit, though, but it's not so bad.

Wade eats 60% of the casserole, much to Aunt May's delight. She wraps him up an extra plate, and sets it on the counter while they have pie and decaf coffee.

"I'm so glad you and Peter get on well," she says as she sips daintily from a chipped cup that Peter remembers is part of a matched set-- one that can't be used anymore.

"Well, I'd like to think we get on very well," Wade winks at Peter, who glances at Aunt May, who's too busy finishing her pie to notice the double entendre.

"Such a secretive boy," Aunt May says as an afterthought, pushing her plate away and yawning behind her hand.

"Aunt May, why don't you go ahead to bed while Wade and I clean up?" Peter asks, and she smiles.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing, young man. I do worry about you, whether you want me to or not," she pierces him with A Look, but it's interrupted by another yawn. "I did get up very early. Don't forget to lock up?"

"Of course," Peter agrees, helping her up from her chair. She turns to Wade, who has gotten up to grab the dishes, gathering him up in a hug before he can.

"Thank you for taking care of my sweet boy," she gives him another kiss on his cheek, "You're welcome to come back anytime, Wade."

"If you're cooking is always this good, you can bet your sweet ass I'll be here!"

Aunt May simply laughs, waving her hand about as she leaves the room. Peter follows her up the stairs.

"Such a handsome young man," Aunt May comments, pulling out her bed clothes as she talks to Peter. "He cares about you very much."

Peter jolts at the thought, a blush threatening to break out on his cheeks.

"W-why do you say that?"

"Oh, just the way he looks at you. Your uncle Ben used to look at me like that-- sent my heart skittering about when I happened to see it."

"A-aunt May, it's not-- he's not--"

"Shush, I've known you long enough to figure out when you have a crush, Peter Parker. You wear your heart on your sleeve." She rubs the fabric of his shirt sleeve between her fingers when she says it.

"I'm... I don't want to fall in love," he whispers, and he thinks May understands, because she's been there through every loss and he doesn't know if he can stand anymore. If this doesn't last? He'll be alone again and that's... too much. She purses her lips into a sympathetic smile, grabbing his hands to hold.

"I fear it's a bit too late for that," she says.

Peter knows he can't base this experience on all of his other experiences-- if he did that, what life would there be for him? But Wade is different. If he lets himself give in to this, he knows he won't be able to go back.

Aunt May hugs him again, and he holds on tightly until she pulls away.

"Go on, go figure it out," she orders, pushing Peter out of the room, and shutting the door.

Peter stands there for a moment, before turning and making his way downstairs.

"It's time to d-d-d-d-d-d-d-duueelllll, _brrrmmm_ ," Wade exclaims as he slam dunks the silverware into a soapy sink. Peter stops at the kitchen doorway, biting his lip.

Wade continues with his song, washes dishes almost carelessly and making sound effects.

"Hey, baby boy! Just finishing up the dishes. Also I'm married to your grandma's pie," he says when he realizes Peter's there.

"Well, there goes my plans," Peter says, distractedly. "She's my aunt."

"I got 99 problems, but a dish ain't one," Wade says, apparently uninterested, as he places the last dried dish on the rack. "I'm also marrying your Aunt."

"I'm afraid that's illegal."

"Aw, damn-- guess I have to marry the next best thing~!" He wiggles the skin above his eyes and Peter shakes his head, laughing softly.

"C'mon, let's go to my apartment."

Bundling back up, Wade slips his mask back into place before they leave. They walk without any real hurry. Occasionally, their arms bump and someone passing by freaks out a little at the fact that Deadpool is walking around near them.

"You know what I always ask myself? If mama said knock you out, and I'm gonna knock you out... then who was phone? Because by all accounts, it just doesn't make very much sense."

"The 90s didn't make much sense in general, and are we even gonna question the memes?"

"That's true. I bet you could pull off some mom jeans though," Wade says, peering around behind him to nod at his ass. "Andrew Garfield ain't got shit on you."

"Who?"

"No one important," he grins as they round the corner to the building. At this point, Peter grabs Wade, which Wade says is super hot, and scales up the building to his apartment window.

They crawl in, and Peter flips on the light on the table, shaking off his jacket and leaving it on the couch. Wade removes his mask, shoving it in the pocket of his hoodie and sinking into the cushions as usual. Peter grabs a drink, taking a few sips before leaving it on the counter, and moving to sit down beside Wade.

"Seriously though, your aunt is pretty cool. Like a secret master raising tiny mutant turtles in a sewer somewhere. Except in this case she has a raised a tiny mutant spider."

"You probably would've liked Uncle Ben, too. He was a real jokester," Peter smiles softly, thinking of Ben's sillier moments with fondness. Wade tilts his head.

"What happened to old Ben?"

Peter closes his eyes for a moment, thinking about lying. It hurts to think about Ben. It hurts to think that Ben was his fault, despite his aunt's assurances. It hurts to think about Gwen, who died because of him, too.

"When I first became Spiderman, I was trying to-- I don't know what I was trying to do, but I was being secretive about things. Uncle Ben was always perceptive, but I thought I was being sneaky. I was fifteen-- I thought I knew everything," Peter pauses, swallowing thickly. Wade simply watches him, waiting.

"When I went out one night, Uncle Ben followed me-- he was worried, my aunt and him both. He ending up being murdered by a simple burglar. If I hadn't been out, if I had just said _anything_ \-- he would've-- he might've-- he would've been here. It should've been _me_." Peter grits his teeth, willing the tears in his eyes to go away. He shouldn't have the right to mourn, it's his fault.

"Petey-- you were a _kid_. You didn't wake up that morning and choose to pull a gun on an innocent person. You didn't pull that trigger. I don't exactly see how that's your fault," Wade says, and Peter turns his head slowly, eyes wide in shock, mouth parted.

"I know what it's like to make that decision, and it's a clear and precise one, bud-- You keep trying to make it up to him, but he'd be really proud of you just the way you are."

Wade's looking at him sincerely, and Peter feels like the blood is rushing to his head, like his heartbeat is the only thing he can hear. His breathing picks up, nostrils flaring to keep pace, and he shoves himself up, inserting himself between Wade's spread legs as Wade makes a noise of confusion.

He pushes Wade back, climbs on him, and presses their lips together fiercely. He holds his lips there, eyes closed-- waiting, teetering on that edge of hope and despair-- and then lets go, pulling back to hold Wade's face between his hands.

Wade has never looked so serious, mouth open and eyes searching Peter's for, God he doesn't know but if he doesn't feel that way about Peter, if all of his flirting has just been a character default--

Wade surges up, his large hands coming up around the back of Peter's thighs, and Peter makes an embarrassing noise in the back of his throat as their lips meet again. The kiss is brutal-- bruising, biting, open-mouthed and sharing breaths with one another because they don't want to stop, because they want to be closer.

It's like Peter can taste Wade's thoughts, can feel them like sparks licking into the air; it's suffocating and so damn good, because he feels it too. Wade _wants_ Peter and Peter wants him, too.

"You're so gay for me," Wade says in-between kisses and Peter can't help it-- he breaks into a wide grin, laughing against Wade's lips and pressing his mouth against his every few moments. Peter moves, wrapping his arms around Wade's shoulders and just holding him, relieved and happy... for the first time in a long time.

"You think I'm gorgeous, you wanna kiiisss me, love me and marry me," Wade sings lowly, warm hands caressing Peter's skin underneath his shirt. His rumbling laughter shakes Peter as he leans against his chest, and Peter pulls back, peppering Wade's face with 'spider smooches'. "God, I've wanted you for so long."

The admission makes Peter sit back on Wade's legs, really studying him. Wade looks somewhat nervous, as if Peter's going to back out or change his mind. It makes his heart lurch, and he shakes his head.

"Me too," he says, and Wade brushes his fingers against Peter's cheek as he moves to hold onto the juncture between his jaw and his neck. He rubs his thumb back and forth on Peter's jawline, and he pulls him forward, half-lidded eyes making Peter's heartbeat skitter. Their mouths hover close, noses grazing softly. Peter inhales, lingering gunpowder and spices overwhelming him-- it's a scent that's wholly Wade's and it sends a tendril of warmth deep into his belly.

Wade drags both of his thumbs over Peter's swollen lips, the rough, calloused texture of his fingertips catching the skin there and dragging. Wade sucks his upper lip between his scarred ones, staying there until Peter returns the kiss, and then moving to pull his bottom lip into his mouth, biting at it softly. Peter lets his mouth fall open, and Wade opens his too, his tongue teasing his bottom lip in warm swipes until he tilts his head, licking into Peter's mouth before melding their mouths together.

Peter moans, hands gripping at Wade's shoulders. He feels Wade's fingers tickling down his back, before they squeeze his ass, bringing him closer. Wade's hard underneath him, and Peter gasps, can feel the mercenary smirking into the kiss he places on the corner of his mouth.

Peter feels light-headed suddenly, chest swooping and stomach exploding with butterflies. He has to be closer, so he rolls his hips and makes a noise that turns into a sharp, high pitched inhale when Wade presses up flush against his hip bones.

"Fuck," Peter says raggedly, grinding back down, again, and again. He can't focus, can't think except for the friction between them, Wade's hands on his hips, the flexing of Wade's thighs underneath him as he moves to meet with Peter. God, what they could do together--

"Your mouth is _filthy_ ," Wade mutters, gravelly voice absolutely wrecked, before biting his throat. Peter hadn't even realized he was saying anything, but it doesn't matter.

"P-people don't appreciate my mouth," Peter says, distracted with Wade sucking the skin of his throat into his mouth, "It can really come in handy."

"I'm gonna come in handy if you keep talking like that," Wade says in response, suddenly maneuvering them until Wade's lying on the couch with Peter above him. His dick is _right there_ , and if Peter moves just so he can--

Wade full-body shudders when Peter catches his erection between his ass cheeks, rolling his hips helplessly as his hands fist the material of his hoodie.

"If you don't take off your pants, I'll murder you," Wade groans, hooking his fingers at the hem of them.

"You wouldn't," Peter says, "you wanna love me, you want to kiss me--"

Wade yanks his pants and underwear down in one swift motion, and so he kicks them off the rest of the way. He watches Wade's hands undoing his own button, lifting his hips to push them down as far as he can in this position, settling back down with the fabric around his thighs.

Peter's so unbelievably turned on it hurts, but his face flushes nonetheless as Wade leans back to let his eyes rove over his frame. His pupils are blown out so much his eyes almost look black, only a sliver of brown iris left.

Peter knows he probably looks stupid, mouth swollen, chest heaving, and his hair mussed up. It's been a long time since he's had sex, and no time since he's had sex with a man because he's never been with a man before, but he's leaking pre-come like he's been aching for this.

"I'm gonna need a 12-month calendar of this view," Wade says, hands on Peter's hips and Peter shivers as he shifts underneath him, their dicks brushing together. He swallows, pushing the fabric of Wade's shirt up and watching the flex of his muscles underneath. He grabs the sides of Wade's waist, using it as leverage to move himself up.

Peter lets out a ragged moan as their lengths slide together fully, and he tries to keep his hands from trembling on Wade's waist. Looking down at him, seeing Wade biting at his lips and the faint flush on his cheeks makes Peter's stomach clench. It's because of him that he's like that, Peter thinks, and he circles his hips to elicit a harsh noise from Wade.

Wade bends his knees, digging his heels into the cushions and pressing upwards, and the extra pressure makes Peter gasp as he screws his eyes shut, moving his groin to meet the new angle of Wade's pelvis. He feels desperate, the urge to rut shivering up his spine and so he gives into that sensation, grinding down hungrily.

The heat within him spirals up and up, like flames licking into his insides and coiling everything so tightly, he sobs out.

" _Wade_ ," he keens, eyes flickering open half-way, framed with dark lashes revealing a dazed expression, "Wade, please."

Wade's hands clench hard around his hips, so hard Peter thinks they might bruise in the form of fingertips later, but it doesn't matter when the urge to come is so close. All it takes is Wade's hand coming up to close around both of them and a few strokes, and Peter is dropping his forehead against Wade's shoulder and breathing harshly against his skin, arching his hips over and over as pleasure fills all of his limbs, heat flaring as they peak.

"Jesus fucking--" he hears Wade choke off as he moves against him, and he rolls them off the couch, and kissing him repeatedly; languid, aching things as they shudder back into orbit, swallowing each other's air until their hearts slow.

Wade sighs above him, and he stops rubbing circles into Peter's hips so he can cradle his face between his hands instead.

"You totally _were_ fucking with me," he says.

"What? No, I--" but Peter stops, looking at the shit-eating grin on Wade's face. "Y-you asshole."

"Yeah, but you want this asshole. Literally and figuratively."

"I only want you for your pancakes," Peter sighs, fingertips tickling Wade's back and feeling the muscles there twitch with the touch.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy. All three of us agree. You can't resist us."

Peter laughs, kissing him anew.

"I really can't."

 

 

 

"Spidey-babe," Wade says as he lands in the middle of the fight. Peter's doing pretty good this time, no injuries or anything.

"Wade!" He shouts, and Deadpool ducks, a web shooting out to latch onto a baddie's face, pinning him to a car a few feet away.

"Thanks, honey," Wade says enthusiastically, "So I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me tomorrow?"

Spiderman pauses with a man's shirt bunched up in his face, fist pulled back.

"Like a... date?"

"Yeah, I guess. It involves a hospital and children though."

Peter punches the man and lets him go when he falls unconscious.

"This couldn't have waited?"

"Uh... no?"

Peter throws another baddie out of the way.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, let's go on a--"

"And then I can get my mouth on your dick later!"

One of the bad guys passes out.

 

 


End file.
